7 Years

 My wife and I are in the process of packing up our house in preparation for moving to western North Carolina. We have been living in our Tampa, Florida, home for a little over 7 years, and certainly, we have grown a lot since we came here from Nashville, Tennessee, in 2015. As I am carefully cataloging belongings now arranged in boxes, I am thinking about all that has happened during this time. I have to admit, I'm feeling sad to leave this wonderful place, even while I'm excited for our next adventure.

It was in 2013 that Rainy and I came down here so she could run a half marathon in St. Pete Beach. After the race, we drove the route she took and she showed me things she had seen on foot. We stopped near a fishing charter business along the sea wall on Pass-a-Grille, and stood watching the pelicans as they groomed themselves standing on top of pilings stuck into the sandy bottom of the bay. A dolphin breached and took our breath away. 

I was not well back then. My dad had died in 2011 and I had been sucked into a maelstrom of grief and bad memories, which was followed by a discovery that the family I thought I had was not available to me when I needed them. I was devastated. To make matters worse, every time spring came back around and that first day when the breeze felt just right for the first time, I was brought back to the day my dad died, sitting in a room with him while he breathed his last breaths on this earth. I missed him. I missed the promise of him. I felt untethered, drowning in sadness.

Florida was a lifeline. Florida was God's hand reaching for me at the bottom of the sea and pulling me back up into life, just like in a dream I had many years ago. I begged Rainy to move here, where we could see dolphins breach and be in the sunshine and never feel the cold dark of winter and the coming spring of death. Rainy had connections in Nashville with the rugby team and choir she loved, and had security and a sense of safety in waking up in a familiar environment every morning. And yet, she loved me more. She took a second job loading boxes from airplanes to delivery trucks early in the mornings so she could prepare us to move as quickly as possible. She often asked me if I was sure this was what I wanted, and I told her that I didn't know what to say except that I could feel in my bones that this was where we had to go.

It was a challenge to get here and to get our home, but there were signs along the way that guided us. I remember the first day we arrived--it was raining and we were dealing with challenges, deep into the uncomfortable unknown. The car in traffic ahead of us had a bumper sticker that read "If anything can go well, it will." I took it as an omen, a prayer, a guidance. We found loving kindness in an old co-worker of mine from Vanderbilt ER--mi familia--who had moved down, and fierce advocacy from our realtor, and soon, we were settled into our lovely house and our new life.

I remember the first months we were here, watching airplanes fly overhead and feeling so happy that I didn't have to be on one of them, that I never had to leave this wonderful place again. I felt free, just for a little while. However, there's a reason "geographics" don't work long term. Your problems will always find you again, and mine surely found me. My grieving became overwhelming again, and all I could think about as I cried and Rainy found herself helpless to help me was that I was going to lose her if I didn't get my shit together. So I started smoking pot again, and that helped me stuff my feelings down. She caught me a few times, I devised a better plan to get away with it, and then I found myself praying for a way out.

The way out came through my beautiful friend Holly, who had been to see an energy healer. I was curious. I had dabbled with tarot and sage and interesting ideas about spiritual things back when I was with my old girlfriend in San Francisco in the 90s, and I remembered I was curious about some experiences I couldn't explain. What could it hurt to see this woman Holly said had amazing insight and guidance? 

I now know Christine Jalbert as a force, as an ancient soul who has been a healer in all her lifetimes. Back when I met her in 2019, I walked into her studio and was welcomed with a hug. She was quiet and patient and kind. She asked me some questions and I told her some things about my pain. Then she invited me to commune with the little girl I had been, who was deeply hurt. The hurt felt so present I wanted to run, and she commanded me, "don't you dare abandon that little girl." I remembered the promise I had made so long ago, that I would come back and tell myself I was going to be okay. Of course I wouldn't abandon her. I had been waiting for this opportunity for decades. I began a deep journey of healing that day, deeper and more powerful than any other therapy I have ever done.

Since July of 2019, I have worked diligently at discovering my truth. I have found it in deep caves of darkness and in the silent celestials of beginnings, and I have found it in the mirrors of other people and in the mirror looking into my own eyes. I have found that I have my own deep knowing and I have developed some of my own gifts.  I have taken my power back from some of the places I gave it away. I know what it feels like to be safe, and I know that who I am is worthy of this beautiful journey.  I have found what forgiveness means.  

How do you thank someone who has guided and walked with you through all that? There aren't words in my language to express such love and gratitude. But what I can do is honor what has been shared with me, and remember the things I've been taught as I move forward. So Christine Jalbert, let my beautiful life be a tribute to our work together these past 3 years. This is how I will honor you, my sacred teacher.

For myself, I want to honor my efforts by walking into the forest and discovering all that is waiting for me there. I want to give my presence to the trees and the animals and the rocks and the dirt and the plants and the creeks. I want to share all of that with my beautiful wife, who has been here for me no matter what for the past 12 years. I want to take her back to her happy mountains. I want to learn with her how the land speaks. I want to gather our hearts around a fire and hold her hand into our elder years. 

There is much to look forward to. There is much to be thankful for. This Florida life has given me strength and hope and wisdom, and so much love. It has given me the company of exquisite birds and manatees and dolphins and such wonderful loving people as I've healed. I want to reach out to Julie in 2013 when she tells Rainy that she just feels in her bones that they are supposed to come here. I'll tell her to keep pushing for this miracle. It was always meant to be.